Chapter Six
When I was typing my name yesterday I realized that it’s a satisfying series of keystrokes to type Melissa. Your fingers flow naturally from the right side to the left of the keyboard, ending with the pinky at a, perfectly placed.
It made me wonder if anyone has ever chosen a name for their baby based on the location of letters on a keyboard.
One might think I have more important things to think about, but, no. Meaningless nothings dance around in my head all the time. A lot of my thought energy is, indeed, concerned with things of little or no importance. Sigh. The runaway mind is truly a problem of the twenty-first century human, isn’t it? I wonder if cave people had the same issue. When there was less happening in the world was there less to think about? Or is it disrespectful and judgmental to assume that cave people lived a simpler life?
Speaking of cave people, last night I dreamt a bunch of people were building a city inside a huge cave, so maybe we’re actually headed back to cave dwelling times, but in the dream the cave was being built with huge machinery and also I think by sinister people.
That definitely does not sound like a simpler life.
I digress. All the time.
I have always loved my name, maybe because I haven’t encountered that many Melissas over the years.
Recently some high school pals have died: Pam, Lisa, Kim, Scott, Chuck. When I lined that up in my head I thought, wow, there really are clear naming trends. We could not possibly sound more like a gang of kids born in the 60’s.
Someone told me somewhere along the way that Melissa is a Greek name that means honeybee, and I thought, well, that’s cool, maybe I’ll take up beekeeping.
And I did, but the bees died. Twice, two years in a row.
I do love honey, though.
When someone wants me to connect with someone they love who has died I ask them to send me the full name of the person. I have no idea why, no one ever suggested this is a good way to be a medium, but it’s always worked for me. I seem to need the name in order to draw the person into conversation.
Do we keep our names after we die?
But if we’ve lived multiple lifetimes, how does that work? Do we have a pile-up of names when we’re dwelling in Spirit Land?
I love wandering through cemeteries reading old names: Patience, Loyal, Honor, Lovely. I wonder what it’s like to be saddled with a noun or verb for a name.
Also, if we live multiple lifetimes, does that mean there are headstones paying homage to us all over the world? And if so, is that responsible stewardship on a planet that’s kind of a sinking ship?
So many questions; so few answers!
It’s a hard thing, naming a kid. When Coco came along we all liked the name Coco but I didn’t think that should be a person’s proper name, so we gave her Helen, for her great grandmother, then we threw Cooper in because we liked that name, and also Hood because it’s a family name. Helen Cooper Hood Eyre. Everyone calls her Coco.
The initials are very cool, graphically: HCHE, you can really play with that. Here’s her business card for the interior design firm she’s going to have when she gets that pesky college situation out of the way, a couple of years down the road. You’ll want to hire her, she’s tons of fun.
That typeface is actually named Coco Gothic Pro.
A secret from the girl world is that many of us made lists of names for our future children long before we had a partner. When it came time for me to have actual babies I had been a teacher for six years and had an association with every name on the planet, so it was really hard to pick. But every Sam I had ever known was cool and Nates are always really nice, so we landed on those and it turns out that both of them are cool and nice, a homerun.
I’m planning to have a couple of Labs, yellow and black, named Betty and Veronica. I spent a lot of time with my nose in comic books when I was a kid. It’s too bad I’m never home, or I would get those dogs today.
I think that if we didn’t call church church a lot more people would go. Like if I put a big sign that says Dance Party on the front of the building, that would make a difference, right?
Of course then we’d have to have a dance party on the inside, no rote prayers we’ve all said one million times or hymns too complicated to sing. No predatory priests, uncomfortable benches or embarrassing basket passing money collecting.
We’d just dance. And the world would probably be a better place.
See? Somehow I went from talking about names to talking about dogs to talking about dancing. I cannot be trusted with a keyboard.
I might have gotten too much sleep.
Here’s the point: names matter. But naming is hard. If you’re having a kid any time soon, I say sit down at the keyboard and see what flows easily ‘cuz no one writes with a pencil anymore. We might have to go back to living in caves, but I do not think we’re going to revert to writing with wood ever again.
Still, I stand by my great love of the Blackwing. I mean, who the heck has the kahoonas to name a pencil something that sounds more like a fighter plane? Or a hockey team.
Anyway, thanks Mom and Dad for the good name. It’s certainly brought some balance to a lifetime of problems wrought by a surname with an apostrophe.
Note to all delightful readers: Office Hours in Saratoga NY is up and running, though sparsely furnished at the moment (getting there). I am meeting with folks to connect with those in spirit, help work through hard transitions in life and strategize the way forward. I have never loved doing anything as much as I LOVE LOVE LOVE this work. More info HERE. xomo